


The Unicorn in the Park

by nostalgia



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen, Magic Realism, Snow, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you say that there's a unicorn in Central Park then there is clearly something here that merits investigation.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unicorn in the Park

They ducked under the police tape around the 59th Street entrance to the park with the sun low on the horizon and the wind picking up from the east.

“Good evening, Detective Bell,” said Sherlock.

“I wasn't sure if you guys would actually show up,” said Marcus. He seemed out of sorts, slightly puzzled.

“Your text specified that you weren't joking,” said Sherlock. “You are above all an honest man and not given to flights of fancy. If you say that there's a unicorn in Central Park then there is clearly something here that merits investigation.”

“And he was bored anyway,” added Joan.

“That too.” He looked over to where the possible unicorn was grazing, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. 

“Whatever it is,” Marcus told Joan, “it's already killed four people, including the Animal Control officers that we called when we thought it was a case of animal cruelty. You know, kids dressing up a horse, something like that. The horn doesn't come off.”

“Could it be a surgical graft?” she asked. It was the least unlikely explanation. 

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Well, given that unicorn's don't exist -”

Sherlock appeared at her side. “I'm afraid that neither Watson nor myself are qualified to help in this matter.”

“It's kind of weird, I know, but -”

“Are you a virgin, Detective?” he asked, bluntly.

“Excuse me?”

“Traditionally unicorns can only be tamed by virgins. Since it appears that this is indeed a unicorn I can only suggest that you obtain a small child with a lasso.”

“Are you serious?” asked the man who had called them out to see a unicorn in middle of New York.

“Very. Watson, we need to return to the brownstone.” Sherlock started walking away from the crime scene, obviously expecting her to follow.

“I have to go,” she told Marcus, apologetically. “Let me know when you find out what it really is?”

“Sure.”

 

 

“Have you lost your mind?” she asked when she caught up with Sherlock. “There's no such thing as a unicorn.”

“Did you deduce that from the evidence available to you at the park?”

“It _looked_ like a unicorn,” she admitted. “Maybe it was bred to look like one.”

“I very much hope so, Watson.” He looked up suddenly. 

“What?”

“I thought I saw something. Can we walk faster?” he asked. “I don't want to be outside when the sun sets.”

“Since when are you scared of the dark?” she asked, picking up her pace anyway.

“Not the darkness, Watson, just the things that it attracts.”

“Now you're just being weird.” 

“I'm working on a theory about the unicorn. I fear it may represent a larger problem.” 

“Such as?”

He just shrugged. 

 

Ms Hudson was sweeping the floor in the hallway when they arrived at the house. “I let myself in,” she said. “I assumed you wouldn't mind.”

Joan was surprised. “I thought you cleaned here on Tuesdays?” 

“I just felt like cleaning something, I knew I'd find some dirt here. No offence meant.”

“Another break-up?” asked Joan, concerned for her friend.

“An argument with my brother.”

“Ms Hudson,” said Sherlock, interrupting, “do you have any pressing engagements this evening?”

She shook her head. “No, why?”

“I suggest that you remain here until morning if at all possible. I wouldn't want you to come to any harm.”

“He's scared of the dark now,” said Joan. 

“I told you, Watson, it's not the darkness itself that concerns me. Ms Hudson, will you humour me and stay the night?”

She looked questioningly at Joan and then nodded. “Sure, if it'll help.”

“Thank you,” said Sherlock with obvious relief. “Feel free to make yourself at home. Watson, the roof.”

Joan followed him up the stairs. “Are you going to explain what that was about?”

“I fear it will become clear soon enough.” 

When they reached the roof he produced a pair of binoculars and started scanning the skyline. 

She was becoming increasingly worried by his behaviour. He could be a bit eccentric at times, but this was something else. 

He handed the binoculars to her and pointed towards the east. “What do you see, Watson?”

She searched the sky until she found the thing that didn't fit. “No way...”

“What do you _see_?” 

It was large, airborne, and scaly. It was beautiful and terrifying. She knew exactly what it was and she also knew that like the unicorn in the park it could not possibly exist. “I see a dragon.” She put down the binoculars. “Am I still asleep?”

“You are, unfortunately, wide awake. As am I.”

“Maybe we were drugged.” She was reaching now and she knew it.

“Sorry, I thought you were Joan Watson, consulting detective, believer of hard evidence. I was unaware that you metamorphosed into Dana Scully.” He took the binoculars from her hand. “Our ancestors in the Middle Ages were familiar with demons, dragons, fairies and elves. They would not deny the evidence of their own eyes.” 

“Sherlock, this is crazy.”

“The bees don't seem to think so,” he said, gesturing towards the hives. “They've been acting strangely for the past two days. A cursory search on the internet confirmed that their behaviour is not isolated.”

“And now you have psychic bees.”

“They observe and they react. They are well-attuned to their environment. I have learned to trust bees.” 

“Let's go back inside,” she said, shivering.

“Are you scared of the dark now?” he asked.

“I think I might be.”

 

They stayed up most of the night, fuelled by Ms Hudson's endless cups of coffee. They left the police scanner on, tracked unusual incidents on a map of the city. At 3am Sherlock drew a large chalk circle on the floor and moved all furniture so that nobody was sitting outside it. 

“Just a precaution,” he said, sliding the last chair into the circle.

“It's not a bad idea,” she said, no longer doubting. “What else can we do?”

“The brownstone happens to lie at the intersection of three ley lines. Therefore, if my theory is correct, it offers us some protection.”

“Do you even _get_ ley lines in America?” 

“Contrary to popular belief, America is on the same planet as the other countries.” He looked thoughtful, and then added, “For the moment, at least.”

 

“Watson, it's snowing.”

She looked up as Sherlock threw the curtains open and daylight flooded into the room. It took her a few seconds to work what was wrong with his statement. “It's the middle of July.” She rose from the sofa and walked to the window, aware of how cold the house was. Sure enough large flakes of snow were falling on the street outside.

“Do you feel heavy? Slow?” he asked.

She lifted her arms above her head. “Now that you mention it.”

“I did some experiments while you were asleep. The gravity of the Earth has increased slightly.”

“That's...” She stopped herself before she could say it was impossible. “You said you had a theory.”

He nodded. “I now feel confident enough to share it. You are of course familiar with the concept of ice ages, of the wax and wane of cosmic cycles.” 

“Yes.”

“I believe,” he said, “that we are witnessing something similar. A natural increase in what we may as well call magic.”

“Why now?”

“Why not now?” He shrugged. “It's an incomplete theory, but it does account for all the evidence.” The doorbell rang. “I'm interested in any ideas you might have to add to our working hypothesis,” he said, heading for the hallway.

Joan looked out at the falling snow, wondering what was next. The normal rules of reality were breaking, and she didn't know how to fix it.

Sherlock appeared in the doorway, fidgeting uncomfortably. “We have another guest,” he said. He stepped aside to allow the new arrival to enter the room. 

Jamie Moriarty had arrived.

 

She had brought Kayden Fuller with her, shooed the girl into the kitchen with Ms Hudson and a promise of cake if she was quiet.

“I broke out of prison last night,” she said, “as soon as I realised what was happening.”

“Good,” said Sherlock, “I was just telling Watson about our need for a criminal mastermind to assist with our investigations.”

“Since I know exactly what's causing all this it would appear that you were right.” 

“Go on,” said Joan, resigning herself to the role of mediator.

“There is a secret military project in Nevada aimed at creating subtle alterations in the laws of physics. It would appear to have succeeded.”

“Bollocks,” said Sherlock. 

“I was asked to consult while I was in prison. Since I am, after all, one of the smartest people on the planet and was at the mercy of the US government.”

“Assuming this is true,” said Joan, “how do we stop it?”

“You don't,” she said, simply. “Our world relies on the laws of physics. The world of magic does not, and will slowly assert itself until it replaces ours. Society as we know it will collapse under the strain.” 

“No,” said Joan, unwilling to surrender. “We can adapt. We'll get used to fairies at the bottom of the garden.”

“Moriarty's right,” said Sherlock. “We rely too much on technology, which will increasingly fail as the normal laws of physics no longer apply.”

“I came here to make an offer,” said Moriarty. “You won't survive this alone, and neither will I. I own a farm in Michigan, chosen for its isolation and the available natural resources. You help Kayden and I get there and you can stay with us. You can bring anyone who can make the journey without holding us up.” 

“We're not just giving up,” said Joan. “Right, Sherlock?”

He didn't answer her.

“We have to leave soon,” said Moriarty. “The transport system will shut down as people try to leave the cities.”

“There has to be something we can do,” she insisted.

“I'll tell Ms Hudson to pack a bag,” said Sherlock. “And we should recruit Alfredo, he's extremely resourceful and will be a valuable asset.” He took his phone from his pocket and started texting. 

“But...”

“Call your family, Watson, the phone lines will be getting busy soon.”

Outside the snow kept falling.


End file.
